angry
Well, sometimes I am.
Out of a fully empty classroom, why did my classmate choose to sit directly behind me? For three hours I felt hot breath on my neck, heard the grumble of a clearing throat, and got increasingly more annoyed every time they coughed into my hair.
I struggled this week to come to terms with just how quickly I get angry. Seeing myself as a mostly rational person, I’d love to say that my anger is always justified. What a concession to make though, to give up your peace of mind, your zen and leave it to be governed by the ignorance and stupidity of others?
Marcus Aurelius
A friend recently introduced me to a book by a prominent figure in the Roman Empire called Marcus Aurelius. One of his quotes has now become my mantra as I attempt to quiet my tinder-like nature. “Brute things, mere facts, should not provoke your rage. They have no mind to care.”
Brute things, mere facts, should not provoke your rage. They have no mind to care. Brute things, mere facts, should not provoke your rage. They have no mind to care. Brute things, mere facts, should not provoke your rage. They have no mind to care.
I repeat it to myself over and over again every time my eye twitches. I repeat it yet again every time a teacher snaps their finger at a student or every time someone walks slowly in front of me.
Little morning meditations, mantras, prayers; nothing I do seems to be enough to quiet my soul, I am SO quick to get angry.
It’s easy to blame it on a feisty Latina nature and Caribbean heritage, famous for cutting words, slashed in a heartbeat, a blessing and curse passed down through generations.
Does anger make you strong? I can’t tell you how many times I stood in awe of my grandmother and mother, seeing how witty, how clever, how cutting they were with their words. Their anger, to me, was power, it was strength. I couldn’t wait for the day when I inherited the inevitable. As a small woman, my grandmother was able to instill fear and command respect from anyone around her. The women in my family are not to be messed with.
Generational Anger
The angry black woman. We’ve see her all over. We have so much to be angry about. Through history and hardships we have learned and been indoctrinated that we have to fight at every turn. At some point, the external struggles turn inward and erode our tranquility. We become angry. We stay angry. My father tells me stories of the sharp nails and words of the women in Martinique. Cultivated from a history of slavery where men could be taken at any moment, the women became the leaders of the home, power taken through strength and force. I’ve learned through the years though, that this anger, this sharp tongue, costs as much as it gives.
What is it worth to be able to cut others down?
I’m learning that for me, it’s just as important to learn how to stay calm. My anger, my strength, my wit can be used as a weapon for good, but I refuse to let it be a constant staple of my personality.
I’m not angry anymore
I get angry quickly, normally for stupid reasons…. I’m working on it. For today, I’ll keep telling myself this: Brute things, mere facts, should not provoke your rage. They have no mind to care.
damnmaris.com 